


A Curious Thing

by orphan_account



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary’s delight when you admit it is your birthday is almost catching, even in her surprise she asks you if you’d like to celebrate. And at the first touch of your lips to the bottle of wine, you’ll wonder later how you never thought this could lead to anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Curious Thing

_Lavinia POV_

Mary’s delight when you admit it is your birthday is almost catching, even in her surprise she asks you if you’d like to celebrate.

“A private party, of course,” she smiles, her hand warm around yours, and she doesn’t wait for you to answer before leading you through the doors to where the crystal decanters of wine are brought after dinner; though some are still quite full. Mary’s fingers close around the clear neck of one, later you think of it as similar to the grip you are both caught in, Mary, by Carlisle, and though your situation differs in your tenuous attachment to Matthew, you still feel the same.

You follow her into a large room with couches and a fireplace; you both sit before the flames, and at the first touch of your lips to the cool mouth of the bottle, you’ll wonder later how you never thought this could lead to anything. The sweet, harsh taste of the wine flows over your tongue, and each time you feel that liquid caress down your throat, the words flow faster, unbidden, and unchecked from your tongue.

Mary is oddly different, the cool restraint she always has of herself wavers this night, she still speaks to you as she always does, and yet your mind can’t find the words to describe her. But as you both collapse against each other in giggles, and her breath is warm against your neck, you find you could almost remember what it is, that strange fondness she has for you. The wine, through the both of you, changes the night, makes it strong, strange, limitless.

You can’t think of what brought it on, but you find yourself leaning into Mary as she does against you. Her giggles bring on your own, what had you both been speaking of that led to such laughter? Her eyes shine darker and brighter, from the influence of the wine, which also affects you, warmly spreading over your body and through your limbs, and at the first brush of her lips against your face you smile, embrace her with one arm and in return, kiss her softly scented cheek. There is insignificant bemusement at first, as to the reason for such affection, but it _is_ nice, and you both speak lowly, the truth of what was said somehow escapes you now you think of it.

The next time you feel the brush of her mouth, she finds your lips, her own warm and encouraging, there was something so deliberate in this kiss that ‘friends’ seemed quite a silly, inaccurate word to describe you both at that moment. All the same, at your first taste of her mouth, the only coherent thought that was in your mind in that instant was, _‘Oh! what a thing to do!’_

And you can’t find a reason to want to stop, there just isn’t one. Why _should_ you stop, when there is no reason other that her kisses are so lovely, so slow and dizzying, that you find yourself falling to the floor, it isn’t such a long way, and Mary bends over you, asking, in not so many words, if you should like to stop.

And, it seems so ridiculous; you can in fact remember your reply to her _,_

_“Never.”_

And she believes you, as you shift beneath her, your lips now seeking hers, she sighs and her hand finds your breast, strangely, you do not cry out, or if you had it would not have been from shock, and when you glance down and find her fingers warm upon you; you find nothing wrong feeling in it, only knowing regrettably it has to end some time. As Mary lies upon you, and shifts her body against yours, she knocks the crystal decanter and it falls, the last remnants of the wine splashing onto the carpet, but the colours of the rug and the splotches are so similar, the mark is imperceptible. Like how you will be after this night, if Mary goes on as you so want her to, if you give in to temptation, as Mary’s lips are so wonderfully persuasive, you will be have an invisible stain upon yourself, upon your soul.

You’re not sure if you’d really mind.

But the kisses then slow, the touches of her hand go no further, you don’t know which of you decided to end this, or if it was an unconscious agreement, and as you stand, she holds you to her for a moment, whether it is to keep each other’s balance you’ll never know, but you stand there until she slips away and you follow her, feeling lost, you’re sure you would be if it weren’t for her leading you up…

You both part at the top of the stairs, to go to your own rooms. Mary seems to forget this while kissing your cheek goodnight and her lips stray to the corner of your mouth and it takes far longer for you to remember why you were parting from her at all.

You lie still in your bed, stirred by tonight’s, one could call it an awakening, experience. But as your door is opened and Mary silently comes to your bed, you wonder if it was an unspoken desire in you that was being fulfilled, but before you can decide, her hands are at your face and stroking your hair, so slowly, languidly, and her mouth finds yours again, you find yourself rushing to embrace her, in measured haste. Mary’s kisses this time are fierce and wanting, you can’t help but fall into her arms, and the wine had no part in this mindless choice, _that_ you are strangely sure of.

As you both gasp and quiver beneath the sheets, deep into the dead silence of night, you wonder afterwards as Mary sleeps softly against you, what a curious thing it was, to be touched so by another woman and to want it more than the touch of a man, more than your own fiancé’s.  Such a strange thing that only a woman can know what a woman feels, what she wants and how to help let her feel it, that you think it would be a nice thing, to feel it _just once_ _more_.

But you’re sure it’s just the wine talking.

~end


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